


Denial

by goodomensblog (just_quintessentially_me), just_quintessentially_me



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious, Romance, oblivious angel in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/goodomensblog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: When Madame Tracy shares a body with Aziraphale, she picks up on Aziraphale’s very obvious head-over-heels adoration of Crowley. Naturally, she feels duty-bound to intervene:The guard, Mr. Shadwell, and the united persons of Madame Tracy and the angel Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as the conflagration of heat and steel skidded to a halt before the barbed wire fence. Cacophonous music blared from speakers which had surely long ago melted.The door swung open and - oh.There was a flutter in Aziraphale’s - er, well technically Madame Tracy’s stomach.From the vehicle, a lanky figure unfolded. Heedless of white flames, he swung the door closed behind him. The music evaporated as though it had never been.“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” he called, flippant. As if his cheekbones weren’t marked with soot, and his black, fitted jacket, not thoroughly singed.Aziraphale took over their shared mouth without a thought.“Crowley,” he said, like a sigh after a long held breath.





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens was beyond amazing ~~~ and I have fallen HARD for the Aziraphale/Crowley ship dynamic. This is my first fic for Good Omens, so I feel like I'm still getting a feel for character voice and tone, but I'm nonetheless pretty dang happy with how this one turned out :)

 

Inhabiting a new body was usually quite a lengthy process, and that  _wasn’t even_ including the paperwork. There was actually a very good reason why celestial beings didn’t just slip into human skins whenever they felt like it - beyond the moral quandary, of course. Much in the same way that no two humans are exactly alike, neither are angels. A human must try on shoes for size, and so must an angel, well - try on bodies, that is.

As the apocalypse was imminent, Aziraphale did not have the luxury of choice.

So Aziraphale had taken what he could find, and what he’d found was Madame Tracy.

If Aziraphale’s old body could be likened to a six thousand year old comfortably broken in, yet remarkably cared for pair of loafers, Madame Tracy’s was a pair of stiletto heels, fresh out of the box and half a size too small.

Not that Aziraphale wasn’t grateful. Really, he considered himself fortunate to have found a body that could accommodate him at all. It just...really wasn’t very comfortable.

_It’s not a walk in the park for me either. I appreciate the metaphor though. The heels, I mean. Terribly uncomfortable, breaking in a new pair._

The voice was high and saccharine and seemed to echo around the space of his head. Or rather, he amended, within  _her_  head. He was, after all, the intruder here.

 _I appreciate that acknowledgment, Mr. Aziraphale_ , Madame Tracy sniffed.

 _ **I do apologize**_ , Aziraphale thought, consciously shaping his wandering thoughts into words.  _ **I’m afraid sharing a body is very much a new experience for me.**_

_You’re not alone there, love._

_**No, I suppose not,**_  Aziraphale said. And when he smiled, it was Madame Tracy’s red painted lips which parted.

_Now, what exactly is it that we’ve got to do?_

_**First of all, get through that gate**_ , Aziraphale thought, squeezing the brakes as Madame Tracy’s scooter sputtered to a stop.

Before them, the Tadfield Air Base loomed.

_The man out front’s got a gun._

**_So he does._ **

As Aziraphale struggled to park the scooter - hindered by Madame Tracy’s attempts to commandeer her hands to help - he noticed that it was quite a large gun, at that.

By the time the scooter was settled, the soldier stood before the gate, gun cradled against his front.

Mr. Shadwell marched up, brandishing a grimy finger.

 _Oh dear,_  thought Madame Tracy.

“You see this finger Laddie? This finger could send you to your maker.”

_**Good God, the man is going to get himself shot.** _

_Yes_ , Madame Tracy agreed. _Please do something_.

Aziraphale stepped in front of Shadwell, waving Madame Tracy’s purple gloves through the air.

“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge-” he started.

From their lips, Madame Tracy’s voice interrupted, “He’s telling the truth, I’d know if he wasn’t.”

 _ **Lord**_ , Aziraphale thought,  _ **save me from the whims of foolish mortals.**_

Madame Tracy’s annoyance flared hot and bright in their shared headspace.

Aziraphale flared his own annoyance right back and took control of their mouth.

“-would you  _please_  stop interrupting? I’m trying-”

Madame Tracy took it back.

“-yeah I just thought I’d put in a good word for-”

“I understand, but-”

“Will you please be quiet?” The guard ordered, impatient and confused. “Both of you?”

 _Well now you’ve done it_ , Madame Tracy tutted.

_**I’ve done it?!** _

“I mean, Ma’am,” the soldier continued, licking his lips, “I must respectfully ask you to-”

He was interrupted by blaring music.

 _ **A bebop**_ , Aziraphale thought, and twisted round, heart in his throat.

_Pardon? A what?_

A car roared round the bend.

Normally when one describes a car as roaring, what they are describing is the sound of a working engine.

In the Bentley’s case, it was not the engine.

Unfortunately, the Bentley roared because it was literally on fire, and the flames were exploding and crackling, making awful noise as the vehicle flew over the darkened pavement. Contributing to the roaring was the metal frame, which beneath the considerable heat, had begun to fracture, and was now squealing its death throes.

None of the roaring could be attributed to the engine as by now, it was little more than a blackened husk and didn’t actually appear to be powering anything.

 _Oh my_ , thought Madame Tracy.

 _ **Indeed**_ , Aziraphale thought, staring uncomprehendingly at the flaming car.

It was Crowley’s car. That much was clear. Up until now, Aziraphale had never seen it quite so...inflamed, however.  

The guard, Mr. Shadwell, and the united persons of Madame Tracy and the angel Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as the conflagration of heat and steel skidded to a halt before the barbed wire fence. Cacophonous music blared from speakers which had surely long ago melted.

The door swung open and -  _ **oh.**_

There was a flutter in Aziraphale’s - er, well technically Madame Tracy’s stomach.

From the vehicle, a lanky figure unfolded. Heedless of white flames, he swung the door closed behind him. The music evaporated as though it had never been.

“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” he called, flippant. As if his cheekbones weren’t marked with soot, and his black, fitted jacket, not thoroughly singed.

Aziraphale took over their shared mouth without a thought. 

 _“Crowley,_ ” he said, like a sigh after a long held breath.

 _Crowley?_  Madame Tracy probed at Aziraphale’s thoughts, curious.

As Crowley sauntered away from the burning car, carelessly swinging Agnes Nutter’s book at his side, Aziraphale finally registered the question.

 _ **Oh, ah yes.**_   _ **Crowley is a demon - but a very good one, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.**_

 _I see_ , Madame Tracy thought back.

Aziraphale could feel her gearing up for another question - and he fought against annoyance, because he  _was_  in her body, but Crowley was here now and they had things to do. Like avert the apocalypse.

_So how do you know each other then?_

_**That, my dear, is a very long story. Suffice it to say, we’re friends.** _

_Ah._

Crowley strolled over, shades down and flames licking at his back, and Aziraphale conceded that Crowley was quite good at making an entrance. Not that those sorts of things mattered in the end - but, ah - well, there was something to be said for style, Aziraphale supposed, gaze following Crowley’s sauntering approach.

Aziraphale felt a flash of amusement from Madame Tracy’s side of the head.

 _ **Now what?**_  Aziraphale thought, and was immediately horrified by how rude it sounded, echoing around the shared space.

_Nothing dearie._

But then, Crowley was speaking, and Aziraphale found his attention most immediately diverted.

“Hey Aziraphale! See you found a ride.”

 _A ride?_  Madame Tracy huffed.

_**He didn’t mean it like that-** _

“Nice dress. Suits you,” Crowly added, sidling up beside them.

“Ahh,” Aziraphale managed, and was embarrassed to feel his shared body flush with warmth. Had he done that? Or was it Madame Tracy-

 _All you, I’m afraid_ , Madame Tracy answered - and did she sound smug?

_**Ah.** _

_He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Your demon friend._

_**He - why - what?** _

Aziraphale vaguely wondered if the prolonged sharing of a body was having a negative effect on his angelic essence, as he couldn’t seem to formulate a coherent thought.

And then Crowley was at his side, brushing shoulders with him - no Madame Tracy - no -  _ **oh confound it!**_

“This young man won’t let us in!” Aziraphale burst out, once more taking control of their mouth.

And then -  _ **oh dear**_  - Crowley was leaning in.

He smelled of spice, and charcoal-

 _And burnt rubber_ , Madame Tracy added, unhelpfully.

Madame Tracy’s body was just slightly shorter than Aziraphale’s had been, so he found himself craning his head back just slightly more than he was used to. Crowley’s dark gaze flickered over Madame Tracy’s face, as though trying to find a trace of Aziraphale within it.

Aziraphale, quite unconsciously, forgot to breathe.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a moment, but for both Aziraphale, who was, for some strange reason, distracted by the sheen of sweat that had collected on Crowley’s soot stained upper lip - and Madame Tracy who did, inconveniently, require oxygen, it felt much longer.

Aziraphale blinked. Pressing his lips together, he swallowed.

Crowley leaned back and grinned, apparently satisfied. Flashing them a wink, he said, “Leave it to me.”

His voice was low, assured, and Aziraphale didn’t have time to consider the way it made something flip in his stomach - because Madame Tracy was hissing in their head.

_Could you please breathe Mr. Aziraphale?_

_**Oh. Right. Of course.** _

They drew a breath.

_Better._

With a bounce in his step, Crowley strolled toward the tense guard.

 _He’s a friend, you said?_  Madame Tracy thought, looking pointedly at Crowley’s back.

 _ **A very good friend**_ , Aziraphale amended.  ** _We’ve been through quite a lot together._**

And it was impossible not to think of nights at the Globe, shoulders pressed together in the crowded theater, of quiet, content meals taken in elegant restaurants, of late nights spent drinking and reminiscing on centuries long past. Or, alternatively - the cold burn of metal around his wrists in that jail cell in Paris, and the feeling of utter elation upon hearing Crowley’s voice in the darkness and knowing he was saved. And that church in England, when Crowley had danced upon holy ground to come, once again, to Aziraphale’s aid.

 _I see_ , Madam Tracy thought - though Aziraphale was unclear as to exactly what it was she was supposed to have seen.

Before he could ask, Crowley was speaking.

“Army human!”

Aziraphale looked on, satisfied in the knowledge that the situation would be handled. Crowley had said he would take care of it, and so he would.

The Antichrist had risen, the world was on the edge of annihilation, and Angels and Demons eagerly awaited The Last War. But - now Crowley was here.

It was a comfort in spite of it all.

And then Madame Tracy piped up again. _Hm. Yes, now I get it._

_**What are you even talking-** _

“My friend and I have come a long way, and-”

The sharp ringing of bells cut him off. And then the gate shuddered open.

Crowley and the guard stared open-mouthed as four children on bikes raced past. Pedaling furiously, they entered through the open gate.

\- and then Crowley’s car exploded.

From that point, time shot forward - from the merciful splitting of Aziraphale and Madame Tracy, to the showdown with the four horsemen, to the rising of Satan himself - until Crowley stopped everything, time included.

It was only for a moment, of course.

And then Adam had done what no one else could. With one single, simple statement, he changed everything.

After that, it was all mercifully anticlimactic.

Adam’s father took Adam and the other children home, and Anathema kindly offered to squeeze the remaining adults into her car to drive them as far as the village.

It was quite a walk back to the vehicle, however, and as they walked, Aziraphale’s mind turned over the frankly mind-boggling events of the previous hour. The apocalypse had been started - and thwarted. And Adam had succeeded, so the world still turned round.

It was a lot to take in.

Crowley walked ahead - forced into a brisk pace by Shadwell, who was in hot pursuit, asking pointed questions about his eyes. 

Aziraphale, walking at an easy stroll, watched the demon from afar, thinking of all Crowley had done to avert the end of the world. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, of that he was sure. He should tell him - or congratulate him, perhaps? On an apocalypse well averted.

Aziraphale hurried to catch up, still deciding precisely what it was he wanted to say, when a soft touch drew him up short.

Madame Tracy sidled up beside him, linking her arm through his.

“Busy day,” she murmured, red lips curving in a tired smile.

“Indeed it was.”

“It wasn’t so bad, sharing a body with you. At least for a little while. A few more hours and I would have been ready to kick you out though.”

“Thank you. For sharing with me,” Aziraphale said sincerely. “It’s because of you I was able to get to Tadfield at all.”

Madame Tracy nodded and hummed. “It’s strange. Though what we went through should, by all rights, be unforgettable, my memory of recent events is already becoming a tad fuzzy.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale mused, tilting his head. “When he - er, fixed things, he may have turned back the clock, in a way.”

“Will I remember all of this then?”

Slowing, Aziraphale patted her hand.

“I don’t know,” was his honest answer.

“Well then,” Madame Tracy said, slowing with him. “Best get this out before I forget about it then”

“What’s that?”

“What are you going to do about that demon of yours?”

“Do about-” Aziraphale stuttered, “ _my_ demon?”

“Crowley,” Madame Tracy leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

“What about him?”

“Oh come now, I heard  _quite a bit_  when I was in your head.”

“Wait, what did you hear?” Aziraphale questioned, equally confused and alarmed.

“I know how you  _feel_ ,  Mr. Aziraphale,” she said, gentle.  “About him.”

“How - how I feel?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you haven’t realized.”

Aziraphale, like all creatures, was in possession of a set of instincts. His, celestial and finely honed, warned him against extended introspection regarding Crowley - because angels were naturally predisposed to favor the status quo. And Aziraphale had always known, with Crowley, came the potential for world rending change. Change that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Pressing his lips together, Aziraphale glanced down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now,” Madame Tracy said, giving him a nudge. “ _You know_. It was written all over your thoughts.”

“What?”

Madame Tracy sighed, “That you’re in love with him, dear.”

The thing about denial is, it works only so long as an individual is able to actually  _deny_  the truth. And for Aziraphale, who was forced to face the truth so plainly stated, denial slipped through his fingers like ice melting to water.

Aziraphale’s steps slowed. And stopped.

In the distance, Crowley strolled, his lanky figure silhouetted by the oranges and reds of the setting sun. Aziraphale knew in the depths of his very being, he’d follow Crowley anywhere. And now, with truth rearing its ugly head, there was no denying why.

Aziraphale blinked, suddenly aware of all he stood to gain - and with Heaven and Hell out for blood, all the more he and Crowley stood to lose.

There, in the quiet forest, with the sky alight in warm pastels and the demon whom he could no longer deny he loved walking oblivious, just out of earshot, Aziraphale did something he hadn’t done in centuries. He cursed  _twice_ within twenty four hours.

“Well fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!
> 
> I've got a Good Omens blog on Tumblr:  
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)
> 
> Feel free to come chat!


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